Behind The Mask: The Rise and Fall of Casey Jones
by PLPwriter
Summary: Professional Sports Superstar Casey Jones had it all coming to him... Until he lost everything in one moment. Now, his destiny isn't on the ice, but it might still involve his knack for sports... and hitting people.
1. Volume 1

BEHIND THE MASK:

The Rise and Fall of Casey Jones

Part 1-

Superstar/Savant

He was the hottest thing to hit sports in years, the biggest news in the rookie league and well on his way to claiming a spot among the greats, Casey Jones was a superstar. Not only able to play EVERY single sport he took up, he EXCELLED at them too, baseball, football, soccer, even tennis, Casey was one of the best. Bashing his way through anyone in his path, he was easily the deadliest man on the hockey rink at any given moment, even more-so when he had a puck to shoot home though. Indeed Hockey was Casey's calling from the very beginning, which made sense considering that both his father AND grandfather had been professional goalies. Some said Hockey was in his blood.

Casey's path to stardom began when he was in High School, up until that point, he'd been utilized as a sort of bulldozer on the hockey rink to clear a path to the goal, but after an incident in which Casey somehow managed to plow his way across the entire rink and score single-handedly, he was instantly given a scholarship and all-but guaranteed a professional shot… And sure enough, after 3 years of playing his way through college, Casey made it. He was drafted by the New York Rangers and was well on his way to PROFESSIONAL stardom… Until one night after a game…

Casey was on his way out of the stadium, he'd waited until all the press and fans had left, trying to get one night off from the attention he'd suddenly gotten during his year playing in the NHL. He made his way out of the locker room hallway, out into the cold, Winter New York air, the sounds of the city buzzing around him like an applause. He knew that this was the life for him, fortune and glory while doing what he loved to do. On top of the world, and nothing could bring him down.

He was suddenly snapped out of his thoughts by the sounds of footsteps approaching from behind the building, he turned, tucking a baseball cap down over his face so as to avoid any potential fans who'd been especially dedicated to waiting.

"Hey, Casey Jones!" One of them shouted, Casey sighed, tipped the hat back up on his head and turned around, plastering a smile on his face. He might as well give his fans what they wanted… Which, judging by the knife that was suddenly in his face, was a bit more than an autograph.

"Can I help you boys?" Casey asked, surveying the 5 men gathered around him, they looked big, mean, and angry about something to boot.

"I just blew 5,000 bucks on that game, Jones…"

Casey just shrugged, subtly reaching for the hockey stick stuck into his duffel bag. "Sorry fellas, can't not do what they brought me here to do." He said smugly. "Why don't you just bet the right way next time?"

"Or how bout you make up for the loss we took tonight?" One of them suggested, picking up a pipe from the ground.

Casey sighed. "Look boys, I'm tired, its been a long day and it smells like you've all been at the bottle already, why not go finish those off and we'll call it a night?"

"I'm gonna shut that smart-mouth of yours!" The one with the pipe shouted, rushing at him and swinging the weapon.

Casey ducked under the swing, yanking the hockey stick out of his bag and whipping the bag horizontally at the others, knocking the 'leader' into the ones behind him. He swung the hockey stick with all his might, driving it into the face of the man with the pipe and knocking his foe off his feet. He spun around and held the stick with both hands, driving it broad-side into the leader's chest. One of the other socked Casey in the face, which knocked him back, but he was used to taking hits, so he quickly recovered, yanking the rubber guard off the tip of his stick and driving the aluminum handle right into his sternum, causing his attacker to emit a loud gasp and then Casey shoved him to the ground. As he faced off with the last two, who were hesitant to attack now, he grinned.

"See? You coulda gone home and sobered up, but I guess getting your skulls busted will have to-"

His statement was cut off though, and replaced with a shout of pain as the man with the pipe, still on the ground, slammed the weapon into the back of Casey's knee as hard as he could, knocking it out of the socket and bringing him down on his damaged appendage. He clutched his broken knee in agony, groaning as his attackers slowly got to their feet, clutching their own wounds.

"Not so tough NOW, huh superstar?" The leader said, shoving him onto his back with his foot and grabbing the hockey stick from the ground. "Lets see if I got any talent for the game…" He added, hefting the stick and arching it back as though he was about to do a slapshot… Which he did.

He put all his muscle behind the stick and slammed it straight into Casey's injured knee, getting a scream of pain for his effort, then the others all gathered around Casey, pummeling the defenseless man without mercy.

After the stick hit his knee, Casey's memory began to get fuzzy, he vaguely remembered a security team stopping the assault, he barely remembered the ambulance arriving, and he had NO memory of the trip to the hospital or the next day that followed.

Casey awoke fully two days after his assault, barely able to open one of his eyes and feeling a welt on his bandaged head. The room had lots of flowers waiting, but nobody was present in the room, silent except for the steady 'beep, beep, beep' of the heart monitor he was hooked up to, which told him he was alive at least… Casey tried moving to a sitting position, but pain suddenly shot through his lower body, and he remembered the attack on his leg. Oh God… His leg!

He threw the blanket aside, fought through the stiffness and the sore muscles to push himself up… and saw it.

His entire leg and pelvis was in a cast… It had to be bad.

The doctor came in soon after he awoke and explained that he'd broken three bones in his leg, and that the cartilage in his knee was completely crushed. It would be awhile before he could walk without limping, and when he asked about playing Hockey, the Doctor paused, as though it was a silly question, then carefully informed Casey that he would probably not be able to play Hockey ever again.

The news hit him like a sledgehammer to the stomach, and he immediately vomited on the floor of his hospital room.

After he had gotten cleaned up, his manager, Carl Nesbitt came to see him. He was a pudgy little man with a quickly receding hairline that was only barely covered by his crappy hair plugs. He held a hat in his hands, wringing at it nervously. "How ya feelin', kid?" He asked Casey, taking a seat at his bedside.

Casey shook his head. "I don't believe them." He said firmly. "I'm gonna play again."

"Kid…" Carl started, but Casey glared at him.

"I'm. Going. To. Play. Again." He repeated, emphasizing each word. "I'm not gonna be a damn cripple the rest of my life."

"No, kid, that's not what I meant… I've got no doubt that you'll be back on your feet again… I've got no doubt that you'll be on skates again at some point…" He trailed off, getting to his feet and pacing.

Casey knew something was up. "What? What now?"

"Kid, I uh…" Carl tried.

"Just tell me!" Casey shouted, sitting up angrily.

"Those bums who attacked you…" Carl said. "Were you helping them fix games for cash?"

Casey's jaw literally dropped, and his brain froze. "Those sonsa…" Was all he could get out.

"Kid, just tell me its not true." Carl said, sitting next to his bed once again.

"It's not true." Casey said, his jaw tightening up. "And the fact that you even had to ASK is really testing my patience, Carl…"

"I'm sorry, I just had to ask." Carl said, holding his hands up defensively. "Because they're saying you did. The NHL is reviewing your contract as we speak… They're probably gonna cancel it."

Casey fell back against the bed, staring into space. After all he'd been through… All those years of blood, sweat, tears, broken bones and busted noses… Now he was gonna be done in by some punks out for a quick buck.

The following weeks were an onslaught of managers, cops, even fellow teammates… Casey had initially been glad to get visitors, but then… as the court case against the men who'd attacked him went on, he realized that people had begun to turn on him.

It turned out that the men who assaulted Casey were members of a large gambling ring, and they'd pointed the finger at Casey, claiming that he'd been helping them fix games all along. Naturally, once he was on his feet, Casey went and faced his accusers, claiming he'd had nothing to do with it, but unfortunately it didn't matter what he said at that point, the media ran with it.

He was called a liar, a cheater, every name in the book (that you could say on TV anyway) and soon, the Rangers terminated Casey's contract with them.

Almost 3 months after his contract had been terminated, Casey Jones left the Rangers stadium again, but now he walked with a cane and carried a VIP ticket… He'd been there watching, and by the end of the first quarter vowed that he'd kill himself before ever entering the arena again. It was too painful to watch them do what he'd never be able to do again, what he'd felt like he'd been BORN to do… What his FATHER and GRANDFATHER had done.

When he finally wandered back to his apartment, he began immediately sorting through all his trophies and awards, stuffing them into boxes, which he shoved into a closet he never used… Then he came to the display he'd made for his father's trophies… His father and grandfather had both used the same hockey mask, it had become sort of an heirloom for the men in the family, passed down from father to son… It was a customized one, very intimidating to look at, slits for eyes, a heavy brow had been added, to give the wearer a fierce gaze at all times. The mouth portion was just three slits and looked almost like fangs.

Casey slid the case open, removing the mask and running his fingers along the rough surface, tracing the familiar grooves left behind by all the hits it had taken over the years… He always liked the mask, and sort of wished he'd been a goalie himself, but it was a moot point now… His fingers tightened around the mask and he flung it back into the case angrily, turning away and kicking the box with his trophies inside, smashing it against the wall and knocking over a golf bag packed with random sports equipment in the closet… All his life had been spent working up to the NHL… He wouldn't even have gotten through COLLEGE if it wasn't for his sports, but now… Now he'd wasted his entire life, and the weight of this crashed down on him so hard that he literally was pushed to a sitting position on the floor of his apartment…

Then the sound of his name caught his ear and he turned towards the television, which he'd completely forgotten was even on.

"-and another shocking upset came today when the D.A. offered a deal to the men responsible for the assault on popular NHL player Casey Jones, resulting in the former star's untimely retirement from the professional league. The men were released on bail today, somehow able to afford the reportedly hefty sum, and sources close to the investigation are telling us that links to organized crime are being examined."

Casey pushed himself up off the ground with his cane, angrily shuffling over to the tv and staring at it incredulously… Released? They were supposed to be up for ATTEMPTED MURDER! How could they have been released!

He clenched his jaw and ran a hand through his hair, flinging his cane across the room and nearly falling over, but his fury made him fight through the pain, forcing himself to stand. He took a step away from the television, then another step… He barely even felt the pain from his injury now as he paced around the apartment… Something needed to be done… They HAD to pay for what they did to him, he pushed all his feelings of self-pity and woe down into the pit of his stomach, swallowed all his anger, letting it burn away those feelings and fuel his rage even MORE… Then his eyes fell across the mask, still laying in the display case…

He reached in and plucked the mask out once more, now looking at it with different eyes. An idea began forming in his mind, and he turned, looking at the bag of sports gear he'd knocked over, then back down at the mask again. He looked at himself in the mirror and saw the sad, unkempt face of a failure… But that could be hidden… The monster that was growing inside him from the hatred and fury he felt for what had been stolen from him could be presented to the world…

He slowly lifted the mask towards his head, feeling the leather straps slide down over his hair, the cool, smooth interior of the mask sliding over his sweat-coated face… and he looked at himself from the eyes that were no longer just that of Casey Jones… But something much more lethal.

He was ready for his revenge.

Part 2-

The First Inning

Burt Jackson stumbled out of the nightclub, adjusting the rolled-up sleeves of his blazer as he shambled down the sidewalk, nodding to the bouncer as he passed by. His discussion with the boss hadn't gone as well as he'd hoped, but he was still alive at least… Casey Jones being taken out of the league was unfortunate for their business, but it had been necessary, which is why his shoes were made of leather, not cement right now.

Jackson headed down the alley towards the parking garage where he'd left his car, passing underneath the streetlights, broken by the shadows of the fire-escapes mounted to the buildings around him. It was that awkward time of the year where winter was still clinging to life, but spring was trying to shove its way in. The weather was chilly, biting at his exposed neck and prompting him to pop up his collar to fight it off, but that didn't help much… it also didn't help that he felt like someone was following him.

He glanced over his shoulder a few times, but never saw anything, so he continued on his way. Suddenly, a few things happened at once, and in his inebriated condition, his perception took them in slow motion… Something crunched under his foot, and he looked down to see broken glass sprinkled down in a perfectly straight line, which seemed odd, then he heard a loud 'snap!' sound and something moved to his left, coming towards him. His leg was yanked upwards out from under him and he shot up into the air upside-down, his back striking the ground hard before he shot up into the air.

He screamed and grabbed at the wire holding his leg, spinning in mid-air as he struggled to find a way to free himself, now sober as a priest on Sunday from what was happening. He spun around toward the nearby fire-escape, which until now had been empty… and was now occupied by a figure shrouded in the shadows. The only thing Jackson could see was the upside-down form of a white, monstrous face glaring at him. He screamed for help, until a fingerless glove-clad hand clamped down over his mouth and another hand came up to the face, holding a finger over where its mouth would be in a 'shhh' sign.

"What do you want with me!" Jackson asked through the hand covering his mouth.

"You think you're above the law… You think you can just go around doing whatever you like… You think you can just beat a man down for no good reason whatsoever… and just walk away?" He asked, the voice was a deep, tight-jawed growl, almost like Dirty Harry. "You're nothing but a damn law-breaking scumbag… and I think its time that you and your ilk found out what justice is… Not that fake crap they put up in the courts and police stations… REAL justice for those that deserve it." He said, lowering his hand.

"Oh God… You're some nut-ball fan of that Jones guy, aren't you? Look asshole, he had that coming, he attacked US first! We just wanted to talk to him!"

The wire suddenly went slack and Jackson plummeted several stories, shouting in fear until the line pulled taught again, yanking him back up. When he did, the man before him grabbed Jackson by the throat and yanked him close to his face. "Piss me off again, and you kiss the pavement with that lying mouth…" He warned him. "You tell all your friends that I'm comin' for them… That PUNISHMENT is coming for them… And anyone they try to hide behind is gonna get plowed through. I guarantee it."

Jackson was breathing hard now, panicking as he felt the blood rushing to his head. "Wh- Who are you?"

The figure made a low, growling sound, maybe a laugh, but he couldn't be sure, pulling Jackson closer so they could look into each other's eyes. "That's the scariest part, isn't it? You have NO idea who I am… I'll be watching you, Burty-boy…"

With that, the line went slack again and he plummeted towards the pavement once more, screaming all the way down, covering his face as the ground came at him like a speeding train… Then he felt a painful pressure on his ankle, and he bounced in the air, slapping the pavement. Painful, but far from lethal.

Burt Jackson looked up at the fire escape, but his assailant was gone… Nothing was there at all in fact… No wire, no trace at all, if not for the piece of the wire still connected to his ankle, he almost thought he imagined it… but that little bit was all he needed to see, and he struggled to his feet to run away…

Casey Jones landed on the rooftop and grunted slightly at the pain in his knee, he adjusted the knee brace he'd made and hurried on, trying to get as much distance between himself and what he'd just done… What HAD he just done? He didn't know what kind of reaction he'd get from them, if any at all, but he felt some sort of release when he had Jackson in his grip… Some kind of peace had come over him, and he wasn't about to let that go until all of them paid for what they'd taken.

Casey slid the mask off, hefting the golf bag off his shoulder and set it down on the rooftop next to him for a moment, catching his breath. Just as he relaxed though, he heard a scream coming from somewhere nearby…

Peering down from the side of the rooftop, he caught a glimpse of a woman, her mouth being covered by a hand and a knife appearing by her throat as she was dragged into an alley across the street. Casey frowned, unsure of what to do… Was he a vigilante? Was that really the path he wanted to follow? Had he already made that choice?

As the woman let out another choked-off scream again and Casey was already on his feet, mask on his face and bag of weapons strapped across his chest once more… He already knew the answers to those questions…

"Shut up I said!" The mugger shouted angrily, back-handing the woman across the face and grabbing at her purse.

The sound of something hitting the ground behind him drew his attention, so he turned and raised the knife, but something hard struck his wrist with such force that he heard something crack and the knife flew from his grip. He looked and found himself staring at a man, wearing a wicked-looking hockey mask, a golf bag and a denim jacket with the sleeves ripped off. "What the hell is this!" The mugger asked, thoroughly confused.

"Well THAT is a crime…" Casey said, pointing to the woman. "And this… Well, this is the penalty!" He said, hefting a goalie-style hockey stick with both hands. He spun around and whacked the mugger across the face with it, sending him flying into the wall of the building nearby. He then hooked the stick around the mugger's legs and yanked them out from under him, spilling him into the trash bags on the ground. "Oooh, hooking, ten minutes!" Casey shouted.

He turned to the fallen woman and approached her, causing her to shrink away in fear. "Its okay, babe… You'll be just fine now, he's not gonna bother you. Take off, or gimme your number, whichever you feel more compelled to do." He said, chuckling, trying to off-set the intimidating appearance he had.

"Thank you…" She said, hurrying away. As Casey watched her go, he heard the mugger struggling to his feet and he heard the scrape of the knife's blade as he picked it up, so Casey simply pulled the Jose Consako baseball bat from his bag, pulled a baseball from the side pouch, and turned.

"Leaving the penalty box ahead of time? Sheesh, you're REALLY asking for it, Tinkerbell…" He said, then tossed the ball into the air and whacked it with all his might, sending it straight into the mugger's stomach, doubling him over, where he gasped for breath.

As Casey left the alley, he tossed the mugger's knife into a nearby sewer grate and grinned beneath his mask. This was gonna work out just fine…


	2. Volume 2

Part 3-

Into the Dragon's Den

Boss Tanaka slapped his palm down on the desk, laughter bellowing from his chest so hard that he started to cough, shaking a hand at one of his guards to fetch him a drink. Burt, now bandaged up from his fall the night before, sat uncomfortably across the desk from him as Tanaka calmed himself down enough to talk. "So you're telling me… Some guy in a hockey mask attacked you, strung you up, and said that he was going to be coming after ALL of us?" He asked, chuckling again. "And what exactly would you like ME to do about it?"

Burt shifted uneasily. "Well… I was hoping you'd… I dunno, hire someone to take him down first."

Tanaka became serious. "You want MONEY from me?"

Burt held his hands up submissively. "No no no! I didn't say that! I just would like your assistance in finding someone who would be able to keep our business safe!"

"OUR business?" Tanaka shouted, spitting as he did. He stood up and slammed his fists down on the desk, making a loud 'BANG!' sound as he glared at Burt. "You listen carefully, Mr. Jackson… You work for ME… This is MY business and if I ever decided that I no longer want to tolerate your face, I will rip it from your head. You will learn your place, and if this masked man DOES come after you, I will not be the one to protect you. Settle your OWN scores." He said, leaning closer. "Now get out of my sight."

Casey watched from the rooftop across the street from "The Dragon's Den" bar, he'd seen Jackson head in there only a few minutes ago and was glad that he'd decided to tail him rather than hunt down the other guys who attacked him… This way he'd be able to move up to the next notch of the food chain. Casey pulled his hockey stick from the golf bag on his back and hooked it over the power line running from the telephone pole next to his perch and kicked off it, sliding across on the slight downward angle towards the slightly smaller building that the night club was housed inside.

As he neared it though, he realized that he'd gotten the angle slightly wrong and the power line he was on began to sway with the weight of his body. Casey swore to himself as, at the last minute, he swung out wide and just barely had time to bring his boots up to kick through the window speeding towards him.

The glass shattered loudly and scratched up his bare arms as he tumbled through the portal and crashed into someone, rolling over and landing on his back. He groaned in pain and took notice of the blood on his arms before looking around, and quickly wished he'd just gone through the front door…

The room was full of tables, and the tables were full of brick-shaped bags… which were full of white powder. The now-unconscious person he'd smashed into was wearing a purple suit, and Casey noticed that he had a gun hidden under his jacket. "Okay… Maybe not the best entrance…" He said, shaking the glass out of his hair and getting to his feet, but just as he did, the door burst open and six more men rushed into the room, guns already drawn.

For a moment, nobody moved. "Uh… Hey, this isn't where I parked my car…" Casey said, looking around uncertainly, letting out an awkward laugh.

"KILL HIM!" The lead thug shouted, raising his gun and all of his comrades opened fire with him.

"Here we go!" Casey shouted, diving to the side and dumping one of the cocaine tables over as the hail of gunfire ripped into the wall behind him. Casey scrambled forward and un-shouldered his heavy bag, reaching into the bag with both hands and pulling out two full-sized Louisville sluggers.

The gunfire faltered as most of them began to reload their weapons, and Casey took advantage, rolling head-first into the fray, landing on his back. He smashed the bats into the crotches of the men closest to him, then sprang up onto his feet, cringing at the pressure on his knee, but fighting through it. He smacked a gun out of the thug's hand on his left, then spun around and slammed the other bat into an enemy's stomach. He spotted the one behind him had finished reloading, so he simply whipped the bat across the room and heard the satisfying 'clunk!' of wood striking skull.

Casey lashed out with his foot as the thug who's gun he'd knocked aside came running at him, catching the man in the stomach, and then round-house kicked him in the face. The two final men hurried back through the door and fired randomly behind them, causing Casey to have to dive back out of their line of fire, taking cover near the doorframe. He spotted his bag, still laying behind the overturned table and looked down at the bat in his hand, shaking his head. More bullets ripped into the doorframe and he realized they'd gotten reinforcements, which meant this wasn't going to be a winning battle.

Casey closed his eyes, counted to three, kicked the door shut, and made a run for the window. The lead storm chewed through the wood behind him and he covered his head as debris hit him from all directions, pelting his mask and already cut-up bare arms. He scooped up his bag, dove for the open window and felt the burning impact of a bullet scraping his shoulder just as he sailed out into open air.

Casey screamed in pain, and then fear as he plummeted down into the alley, smashing hard into the dumpster lid and rolling down into the alley floor, groaning and bleeding. He grunted, fighting through the pain and struggling up to his feet, limping away. He heard the side door of the club slam open behind him and didn't stop. He saw bright headlights of a car hit him from behind, he still didn't stop. He reached the fence at the end of the alley… and stopped.

Casey realized he was screwed… He could barely walk, much less climb, so he turned, pulling a cricket bat and a hockey stick from his bag. "Alright, Tinker Bell…" He said, staring into the blinding light and trying to look intimidating. "Who's first to get their skulls busted?"

"Drop your weapons and put your hands on your head!" A voice demanded, then Casey noticed the red and blue lights above the blinding high-beams…

"Figures…" He said, dropping the weapons and turning towards the fence, placing his hands on the back of his head. "Frying pan and fire my ass… This is like out of the frying pan and into the BACON grease!" He said, looking over his shoulder as he mentioned the pork product.

As the cop approached him, he heard the sounds of more Police out in front of the club, lots of shouting voices, and a chopper approaching from the distance. He shook his head again and looked up at the top of the fence…

"Screw it." He said, then dove for the top of the gate, shouting a battle cry as he flung his feet as high as he could. "GOONGALA!" He cried out as his feet somehow cleared the fence and he hit the ground on the other side. Maybe it was adrenaline, maybe it was a legitimate miracle, but Casey's feet barely touched the ground as he sprinted down the alley and broke out into the street on the other side, dodging between the oncoming cars and barely jumping onto the hood of a taxi that didn't stop. He ran over the roof of the cab, jumped to the next car, then the next, dropped down to the street and disappeared down the alley across the street, taking cover a moment to catch his breath and analyze if anything was broken. There didn't seem to be, but his knee felt as though it was about to give out, so he kept going, but at a slower pace, praying he could make it home before his knee DID give out.

As soon as he took a step though, something hit the ground behind him, and then HE hit the ground in front of him, his head pounding as he rolled onto his back. Just before his world faded to black, he saw a man standing over him holding a Billy-club, wearing a shirt with a purple dragon on the chest.

Tanaka stormed through the corridor of his warehouse, fuming. His lawyer had gotten him out of the Police's custody, claiming he had no knowledge of the activities going on in the club. Now though, it was time to take care of their little problem…

He entered the main area of the warehouse, all around him were massive crates, filled with stolen property from around the globe, all being prepared for sale here in the land of opportunity. Tanaka had been working a long time for this operation to succeed and he was not about to allow some freak in a hockey mask screw it all up for him… No more than he would allow rumors of the Foot Clan setting up shop in New York intimidate him…

He approached the far corner of the warehouse, finding their uninvited guest strung up by his feet, he thrashed and fought whenever any of his men came close enough and even managed to tag one of them with a punch before a stun gun was used to subdue him. Tanaka smirked slightly, this would be very entertaining if he liked to fight this much… "Mr. Jones… What are we to do with you?" He mused, circling around him. Casey's eyes followed him like a caged animal, ready to rip him apart if he got the chance.

"Well I had an idea…" Casey said.

Tanaka stopped, tilting his head slightly. "Oh do you?"

Casey nodded. "Yeah… You could let me down and you and I can settle this man-to-man." He said, smiling. "Or in your case, man-to-ape."

Tanaka laughed, then slugged Casey across the face, wiping the blood from his face off his knuckles and stepping back a bit. "Bring the sponges…" He ordered.

A few moments later, several of his men approached with super soakers and a battery device, with two tongs attached by cables, the tips of which were covered in sponges.

"Ooooh, now it's a party." Casey said, smirking.

Detective Matheson was hunched over the forensics lab table, examining one of the recovered "weapons" from the club earlier in the evening. Behind him, Masuka, the Forensics Examiner shook his head as he waited for the computer to yield fingerprint results. "Two hockey sticks, two baseball bats, and a Cricket bat… Who the hell is this guy?"

"I dunno man," Matheson said. "but he's definitely one mixed-up crime fighter."

Masuka scoffed. "Crime fighter? How do you know he wasn't just trying to steal some of the Purple Dragons' product?"

Matheson spun around in his chair to face Masuka. "Because he was wearing a mask, and had a theme going. Granted, it's a pretty weak theme, with the sports equipment angle and whatnot, but it's a theme none-the-less… I'm thinking he's probably a vigilante."

"I dunno, that sounds pretty thin, but you're the detective…" He said, raising his hands and turning around again.

"Well there's also the fact that there was numerous reports of a guy in a hockey mask beating criminals to a pulp lately." Matheson said, chuckling. "Three different women and that couple in Central Park described him the same way."

Just then, the computer beeped, and a file came up on the screen. Matheson looked over Masuka's shoulder and his jaw dropped. "No way…"

On the screen was the smirking face of Casey Jones, no rap sheet, but they'd taken his fingerprints during his assault, so they could separate them from the prints of his assailants… If word of this got out, he'd definitely have a rap-sheet now though.

An hour later, Matheson was back outside the club, crossing the Police Line and entering the alley. "Find anything new?" He asked one of the other detectives.

"Nada." He replied, "Just some kids saying they found the guy's hockey mask laying in the alley two blocks over."

Matheson stopped. "What?"

The Detective turned back to him again, holding it up. "Some kids, they showed up like 20 minutes ago saying they found the mask laying in the alley a few streets over."

"Exactly where did they find it? Show me now!" Matheson demanded, grabbing the evidence bag with the mask inside as they headed off to the spot.

Casey screamed in pain as the sponges squished against his soaked torso yet again, and the jolts of electricity coursed through his body, making his muscles tighten up and his whole body quiver.

"Mr. Jones, no matter how much you scream, you will not be dying anytime soon, so make the best of these last…" He said, but trailed off, as Casey's body began to shudder, but not in pain… He was laughing.

"Hehe… This is doin' wonders for my Charlie horses… Work on my shoulders now, wouldya?" He said, laughing and turning around to give the torturer better access.

Tanaka was fuming. He shoved the operator aside, yanking the sponges from his hand and jamming them into Casey's sides, getting right into his face. "You will not laugh when we are cutting you into pieces, Jones!"

Casey didn't reply, his head simply shot forward and his teeth clamped down onto Tanaka's nose, where he bit down as hard as he could, shaking his teeth like a dog with a toy.

Tanaka screamed as the shock from the sponges transferred to him, and he quickly dropped them trying to get free as he felt blood running down his face. His men swarmed on them from all sides and beat on Casey until he released their boss. Casey spit the remaining blood onto the floor and flipped Tanaka the bird. "Too much fiber for me…" He said, then snatched the sponges from the ground and jolted the two henchmen on either side of him, sending them flying backwards. Before any of the others could react, Casey did a sit-up and grabbed hold of his feet, where he was chained, pulling himself up and bracing his feet against the hook, standing on it, just out of their reach.

"SHOOD 'IM!" Tanaka shouted through his damaged nose, and they all pulled their guns, taking aim. Casey quickly pulled himself hand-over-hand up the chain and kicking his feet, swinging it over to the stacks of crates, managing to reach them just as the hail of gunfire assaulted him. He sprinted through an opening in the stack and came out the other side, almost falling off the stack. He jumped up to the next crate, getting on top of the stack, seeing that Tanaka had a small army entering the warehouse, and that this wasn't going to be easy…

Casey sprinted across the crates, his bare wet feet slapping the wood beneath him as he ran, and he spotted a loading crane off to the side, leaping into open air and grabbing the chain. He held fast as the chain shook beneath him, but thankfully, it was attached to a crate on the ground, and he was able to simply slide down, landing in a clear spot on the floor. Judging by the voices nearby though, it wouldn't be clear for long…

Jones ran down a row of crates and saw two men ahead of him with their backs turned, holding guns, apparently waiting for him to run down the aisle they were facing… Bad move.

Casey gripped the rope that had bound his hands moments ago and ran at them, looping it around the first thug's throat and yanking him to the side, slamming him into his buddy. "Ooooh! Mean shoulder check into the glass!" He shouted, then stomped the second thug to the ground, still choking the first with the rope. "How long can you hold your breath by the way?" He asked his captive, yanking him along and keeping him between himself and the approaching Purple Dragons.

Casey reached the door just as Tanaka appeared, a towel pressed against his face. "What are 'ou waiding for! FIRE!" He said, not caring for the safety of Casey's hostage as he, and then all the others opened fire again.

Casey whipped his prisoner out the door and then slammed it behind him, wrapping the rope around the handle to buy himself some time. He looked down at the thug, gasping for air and shook his head. "Some family ya got in there…" He said, then socked him in the face, knocking him unconscious.

Once the warrant came through to search all of Boss Tanaka's holdings, Matheson had immediately organized the SWAT team, which was now charging into the Purple Dragons' warehouse. As they got closer, they heard LOTS of gunfire, which was probable cause enough, and gave them the excuse they needed.

Matheson saw one of the warehouse doors on the side close and veered his car towards it as SWAT set up shop, preparing to storm the building and catch their targets off-guard. Matheson saw a figure fleeing down the side of the warehouse fence and jumped out. "Stop there!" He shouted, pulling his gun and running after him.

The fleeing figure kept running, hitting the fence every few feet, as if checking for weak spots, but finding none. Matheson was gaining though, obviously the man was injured, judging from that limp…

Casey saw the cop behind him and didn't think filing a Police Report was in his future, so he booked it, trying to find a hole or something to crawl through, or even UNDER the fence. He finally found a gap at the bottom where the mesh steel had been bent out of shape. He wasn't sure if it would be big enough for him, but at this point, it was worth a shot…

Jones dove for the gap, scrambling underneath it and was almost relieved, but then his pants pocket caught on the fence. "DAMN!" He shouted, yanking frantically at the fabric, seeing the cop pursuing him.

Finally, just as the cop neared him, Casey heard a loud RRRRIP! And he pulled himself through the fence, getting to a standing position just as the detective reached him, leveling his gun at Casey's head. "Freeze or I'll shoot!" He commanded.

Casey was taking shallow, ragged breaths, and didn't think he'd have much chance of out-running a bullet, even if he did have a damn good dash… So he didn't move. "Look pal, you're not gonna be able to arrest me. Your boys are probably all tied up with arresting the purple dragons back in the warehouse… and you don't look like you'll be able to get under that fence fast enough to stop me from bookin' it." Casey said, shaking his head and extending his hands out to the sides. "So how bout we call it a draw and I just take off?"

Matheson glared at him, shaking his head. "I had to see it for myself, the great Casey Jones running around in a half-assed Halloween costume fighting crooks…" He said, then lowered his gun. Casey backed up a few steps, but Matheson reached into his coat, pulling out an evidence bag. "Can't do much trick or treating without your Halloween mask though, can ya?" He asked, then tossed it over the fence.

Casey caught the bag, looking inside to find his hockey mask. He looked up, narrowing his eyes at the detective a bit. "What're you sayin' here?" He asked.

"I'm sayin' that Tanaka is probably long gone by now, and obviously he's connected to what happened to you, so you seem like a valuable friend. You do your thing and call my office with info… Maybe I'll catch you later."

"We'll see." Casey said, then turned and sprinted off into the darkness. Matheson watched him go, then headed back towards the warehouse to rejoin the raid.

Part 4-

Chance Encounters

"Purple Dragons. Finish the story." Matheson said, looking over his shoulder to make sure his partner was still getting coffee across the street. Almost a week had passed since the raid on the warehouse, and Jones had finally called his office, telling him to wait by a payphone in Hell's Kitchen.

Casey meanwhile, was across the street inside the coffee shop that Matheson's partner was buying from. He was wearing a hoodie with the hood pulled up over his head, and glanced behind him, from one man to the other. He was utilizing the payphone in the corner of the dining room. "Apparently these jokers are fresh off the boat, and judging from the people I've… heh 'talked to'…" Casey said with a chuckle. "That these guys are definitely into hocking stolen goods ON TOP OF their cocaine operation."

"You're not telling me anything I don't know." Matheson said impatiently. "The warehouse turned out to be a bust, we found a lot of stolen stuff, but the cocaine and Tanaka were nowhere to be found, which isn't a surprise."

"Ease up, Gestapo." Casey said. "I'm workin' on finding out where the Purple Dragons run their business from."

"Any leads?" Matheson asked.

"No, seems like people are scared." Casey started. "Not just of the Purple Dragons either, everyone keeps making references to another group, but nobody's givin' names, no matter how hard I push."

"You're not hurting civilians, are you?" Matheson asked, frowning.

"Not the ones who don't deserve it." Casey said, then hung up.

Matheson swore under his breath and hung up the phone as well, wondering if letting Jones go was a wise decision. He had to remind himself that he couldn't put the kind of pressure on Tanaka's operations that Jones could. He turned and climbed into the car, waiting for his partner to return.

Casey headed off down the street, watching the detectives pull away from the curb. He was a bit relieved to have Matheson on his side, but knew the guy would sell him out in the end… At this point though, he didn't care, as long as he got back at the bastards who'd ruined him.

As Casey ducked into the alley nearest the coffee shop, he unzipped the hoodie and pulled his golf bag out from behind the dumpster where he'd stashed it. He stuffed the hoodie into one of the side pockets, then strapped it onto his back, pulling the hockey mask onto his head.

Casey felt his weakness slip away as he hurried down the alley, over the course of his recent 'career change', he'd felt more and more disconnected with the world, found himself not really thinking about hockey so much, even realized that he was enjoying fighting crime much more than he'd enjoyed hockey… Were he not so enthralled in the monster he became when he put on the mask, he'd wonder if he was going too far.

Casey Jones had been a man on a mission of revenge, but now he found himself assisting a NYPD detective in some kind of foolish crusade against a drug-smuggling ring that also apparently dabbled in stolen goods, he'd gotten in over his head and didn't even realize it.

Casey sat, perched in a tree next to the edge of Central Park, watching his targets. They were a couple of small-time purse snatchers, but Casey had picked up their trail when an agent of the Purple Dragons had handed them a job, they were supposedly going to be assassinating one of the rival gang leaders' wife, making it look like a mugging gone bad… Casey wasn't about to let these scumbags get that far though… He gripped the strap of his golf bag tighter, watching them through binoculars as they both sped up their pace suddenly. They were heading towards him, passing a movie theater now, and obviously they'd chosen a mark for a robbery.

Casey's gaze drifted further up the sidewalk, worried for a moment that they were going to do the killing tonight, but was slightly relieved to find that they were just plotting out an average purse snatching, and their mark was an elderly woman. The two rushed up behind her, one man going to her right, distracting her by bumping her, so she swatted at him, then the one on her left snatched the purse from her arm, rushing off with his partner. Casey was about to step in, when suddenly an oddly-shaped shoe shot out and both men collided with it, toppling forward to the pavement and the purse flew into the air, where it was caught by the person who'd tripped the muggers.

The purse flew through the air again, but this time landing in the hands of the old lady who'd been victimized. The two punks looked up angrily at their assailant, a trench-coat and fedora clad man with a bulky build. His face was obscured by the hat, but Casey clearly saw him pull aside the coat and motion to something hidden, most likely a gun.

The muggers re-thought their retaliation and instead booked it… Right into Central Park. "Oh. Kharma, you are my fair lady…" Casey said to himself, then leapt to the next tree over. The two muggers rushed forward, hiding behind a row of bushes and the tree Casey was sitting in.

"What the hell was THAT?" One of them asked, trying to catch his breath.

Casey leapt down from his hiding place, standing up tall as they both spun around. "That…" He said, wagging his finger at them. "Was a crime, you purse-grabbing pukes…" He continued, pulling his hockey stick out. "And this… Well this is uh… The penalty." He finished, then spun, colliding the hockey stick with one mugger. "Two minutes for slashing." He said, then went low, snagging the second man's foot and yanking it out from under him, bringing the man down onto his back. "Two minutes for hooking." Jones added.

The frightened look on the men's faces brought a lot more joy to Casey than it should have, and he even began to realize it now… "And lets not forget my personal favorite…" He said, trying to ignore his inner monologue. He suddenly remembered the sick glee that his assailants had in their eyes as they'd beaten him… and he no longer cared if he was being too brutal. "Two minutes for high-sticking!" He said, hefting the stick over his head to smash over the second man's head as he tried to get up.

Before he could strike though, something hit him from behind and he toppled forward, tripping over the muggers, who both managed to get to their feet, the first one clutching his head and the second helping him flee into the darkness of the park. "How bout a 5 minute game misconduct for roughing, pal?" A Brooklyn accent suggested.

Casey angrily got to his feet, his hockey mask had been knocked off, and he saw that it was the guy who'd stopped the muggers before. "Hey, uh… Bogey?" Casey inquired, mocking the guy's choice of attire. "Who died and made you referee? You did your job, now get outta here and let me do mine, these J.V. low-life's need to be taught a lesson." He said, glaring at the stranger.

"Not like that they don't… Not from you." The coat-clad interferer insisted.

That was when Casey noticed the men fleeing into the darkness. He could probably catch them if he tried… but this asshole had gotten on his nerves, maybe he needed to be shown that this town only had room for real justice. "Well, looks like you're the one who needs to be taught a lesson, pal…" He said, pulling out two of his baseball bats. "Class is pain 101..." He added, flipping them around once. "Your instructor's Casey Jones."

The man in the coat ducked is head low, waving a hand dismissively. "Look… I don't wanna fight you." He said.

Casey almost cringed, but shrugged visibly to hide it. Who the hell did this guy think he was? Coming into HIS city and trying to dish out half-assed punishment for crooks, then saying he DIDN'T wanna fight? What kind of backwards-ass vigilante was he looking at? "Well, tough rocks pal." Casey said, then rushed forward.

Casey swung his left-hand bat horizontally at the man's head, but he ducked under it, and then side-stepped Casey's follow-up vertical strike down at the ducking man. Both swings missed by a mile. Casey continued the momentum and went to jab the man in the face with the right bat, but he caught the weapon easily with his hand. "A Jose Conseco bat?" The man inquired, recognizing the writing on the side. "TELL ME you didn't pay money for 'dis." He pleaded.

"Ooooh." Casey said, resisting the urge to laugh, maybe he didn't hate this guy so much after-all… Oh well. He took the opportunity of distraction and swung the left bat horizontally again, feeling it strike the man's backpack and sent him tumbling to the side, taking Casey's other bat with him.

The strike was solid, but he must have had something just as solid in the pack, because he definitely didn't feel skin impact. "Two for one sale, pal." Casey said, smirking. As the stranger got to his feet though, he noticed his hat had fallen off, revealing a wide, green bald head, with a red eye mask. Casey frowned. "Hey… What are ya, some kinda punker?" He asked, then rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Man, I hate punkers…" He said, then looked at him more closely. "Especially bald ones with green makeup… Who wear masks over UGLY faces…" He continued, grinning as his opponent tapped the lost bat on the dirt, as though preparing for a pitch. Casey mock-cringed at his opponent.

"New batter!" The man shouted, then swung at Casey's head, but he ducked under it.

"Strike one!" Casey shouted as he ducked, then jumped back out of range of another swing at his mid-section. "What a whiffer!" He said mockingly. Before he could say anything else though, the man was gone, and a brief flash of something flipping over his head was all he got before he turned and saw his bat smash into his back, knocking him face-down into the dirt.

"Home runnnnn!" Casey's enemy shouted, Casey rolled onto his back, groaning in pain, but he was pushed down by his enemy's foot… which only had two large toes. "Raphael wins! One… NOTHING!" He shouted, tossing the baseball bat aside. Casey shoved the large reptilian man off his chest and scrambled backwards, now certain that his foe was not human at all. "Well? The man asked.

Casey got to his feet. "New game, round head…" Casey said, pulling the cricket bat from the golf bag on his back and spinning it around. "Cricket." He announced with a grin.

"Cricket?" Raph asked incredulously. "Nobody understands cricket. You gotta know what a CRUMPET is to understand Cricket!"

"I'll teach you." Casey said simply, then darted forward and did an under-hand swing up into Raph's jaw with all his might. The hit sent him flying into the air and head-first into a trash can behind him. Casey chuckled. "Huh… Six runs." He mumbled, then began gathering his weapons as Raph struggled to get his large head out of the waste basket. He picked up his hockey mask, putting it back on his face and quickly hurried to follow the path of the two who had gotten away. "So long, freak, I got work to do!" He shouted back.

"FREAK!" He heard from behind him. "FREEEEAK!"

Casey didn't stop, he knew he had little to no chance of catching them… that is, he would if he didn't already know where they were headed. Most of Tanaka's men were aware of Casey, and knew he'd be coming for them. Luckily, he'd brushed up on the identities of the guys responsible for what happened to him, and knew the bar they did their gambling out of… The bar that was the likely destination of the two punks, considering how close they were.

He was so caught up in his plan that he was almost startled by the sound of screeching brakes and a car horn behind him. He glanced back just in time to see his sparring buddy roll over the hood of a car to avoid being hit, and didn't even slow his pace… So Casey decided it was best to lose him.

Casey ducked to the side street he was approaching, climbing a fire-escape and perching there silently, watching him run right by, so pissed off he didn't even notice Casey had lost him. "Come back here! I'm not finished with you!" He shouted in vein. "DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMN!" The turtle man shouted, his voice echoing loudly through the streets.

Casey grinned again. He'd heard rumors of weird creatures in New York, but always dismissed them as tabloid gossip… Now though, it seemed as though his world had expanded a bit, and Raphael the Ninja Turtle seemed like a… well, THING after his own heart, an angry brawler. He watched the turtle man for another minute, and saw him vanish into a nearby sewer cover, which he slid back closed behind him.

Casey briefly considered following him, just for curiosity's sake, but shook off the notion, blindly driven by his mission.

The Irish Luck pub was quiet for a Thursday evening, but not for long. The front window shattered and a man came flying through it, rolling through the broken glass on the ground. He groaned in pain and struggled to his feet, looking back into the pub to see Casey Jones smash a guy's face into the bar top.

"Look punk, I'm tired of playin' games…" Casey said, whipping his catch backwards, where he toppled over a table covered in beer bottles. "Tell me where their base of operations is." He said, pressing the hockey stick face to his throat threateningly. "Or I'll start practicing my slap-shot…"

"Please don't!" The crook begged. "They'll kill me if I tell ya!"

"Well I wont LET you die if you don't tell me." Casey threatened, pushing the face of the stick harder into the man's throat, cutting off his airflow a bit.

"OKAY OKAY!" He shouted, and Casey eased off, but not by much. "They run their operation out of a warehouse down at the shipping docks… I heard Tanaka's been hiding out there."

Casey smirked beneath the mask. "He's scared of me."

"I don't think its you, man…" The purse snatcher said, glancing out the shattered window just in time to see his partner get to his feet, cringing in pain from the throw.

Casey looked at the downed man intently a moment, wondering what he meant, but then noticed the other guy he'd thrown through the window starting to limp away. "tsk tsk." Casey said, shaking his head. "Leaving so soon?" He asked, then pulled out a baseball with studs hammered into it, whipping it with all his might into the guy's back, taking him down again. "And you're out." Casey said, grinning and heading out of the pub.

Casey made his way across the top of the shipping crane, trying not to look down. He wasn't scared of heights, but it was such a long way to the ground… Not to mention looking down threw him off balance. He finally reached the edge of the crane and took the golf bag of weapons off his back, flinging it as hard as he could to adjacent warehouse roof, where it landed and rolled to a stop safely next to an air conditioner. Casey backed up a few dozen feet, coiling a moment, judging the distance… and sprinted.

He pumped his legs as hard as he could, shutting out the pain in his leg as he neared the edge. "Goongala!" He shouted, then pushed off the edge of the crane, still refusing to look down as he shot across the considerable gap between the crane and the building, and landed, tucking and rolling with the motion, coming to a halt right next to his bag. He didn't know if anyone had heard him, (and still wasn't quite sure why he shouted that word, or even where he'd heard it) but he didn't want to risk it, so he quickly slung the bag across his back, pulled out a baseball bat and rushed towards the rooftop door… It was unlocked.

Casey paused a moment. Why would the door be unlocked? Tanaka didn't seem the type to just leave entrances to his stronghold vulnerable… So Casey didn't enter, he instead crossed the rooftop quickly, coming to one of the large warehouse sun-roofs and pulled out his lock-picking tool kit from the side pouch of his golf bag. He'd been reading up on how to do this skill, but had only tried it at home sofar… "Time for the real deal." He said quietly, starting to work on the window lock.

After a few moments though, Casey grew impatient.

The shattering window glass echoed loudly through the warehouse and Casey plummeted into the building, brandishing two Baseball bats, landing on his feet and cringing slightly at the discomfort in his leg, looking around for the swarm of henchmen likely to come at him… but there was none.

Nothing moved inside the warehouse.

Casey cautiously moved to the side, into the shadows where he could put his back to the wall and watch his surroundings… Was he in the wrong one? He checked the paper he'd written the warehouse number on, but found it to be the same one he was in. Had they left town? He'd landed on the second floor balcony, near the stairs leading up to the office, so he moved low and quick, looking down to the main floor of the warehouse… It was filled with crates, and he didn't peg the Purple Dragons for the type to just pick up and leave without their product.

Casey turned and headed for the office, spotting that it was still furnished, so he assumed Tanaka had been using it. Casey didn't bother with stealth at this point, just kicked the door off its hinges and stormed in, ready for anything… Or so he thought.

Tanaka was there alright, slumped forward on his desk, a knife jammed into the back of his head with a flag attached to the handle. It bore a strange symbol, a rounded bottom with three spikes jutting from the top, the middle one taller than the others, and a red ring surrounding it. He didn't recognize it, but judging by the Japanese writing, he figured it probably was a rival gang…

Casey hurried out of the office, down the stairs to the main floor of the warehouse, that's when he saw the bodies. They'd been strung up between the main stacks of crates by chains, their heads cut off and placed in their own hands, with large spikes stuck through the hands, making the heads like shish-kebabs. "Good God…" Casey said, sliding the mask up onto the top of his head in awe, scarcely able to believe the sight. The entire Purple Dragon gang had been slaughtered, and whoever did it didn't even bother to steal their product…

This was a message clearer than any other.

Casey resisted the urge to wretch, and then he noticed the faces of several of the gang members were familiar… He got closer, even though it repulsed him to do so, and realized that they were the men who'd beaten him down. His revenge had been stolen from him.

Matheson followed SWAT into the warehouse, and even though Jones had told him what to expect… He still almost threw up. The bodies where EVERYWHERE.

By the time he made his way up to Tanaka's office, he was white as a ghost, and spotted the knife with the flag on it, just as Casey had told him… He pulled out a set of tweezers from his crime scene examining kit, lifting it up to look at the symbol… It was definitely the Foot Clan's mark.

Part 5-

Escalation

Casey swung in through the open window of his apartment, hurling the bag of weapons into the wall as hard as he could. He ripped the mask off his face and slammed it against the wall as well, letting out a fury-filled cry of outrage that he was sure his neighbors had heard… as in ALL his neighbors… but he didn't care, he was so pissed he could barely keep still. He didn't know what to do, he didn't know who to hate anymore, he didn't know where he belonged, or if he should even bother continuing on… He had nothing to look ahead to now that those men were dead. They'd never be brought to justice… True he'd intended to send them to justice as little bags of skin filled with lots of powdery remains of what used to be bones, but he'd intended to send them that way ALIVE.

Casey collapsed onto the couch, his head falling into his hands in defeat. After a few moments though, he looked up, brushing the hair from his face and realizing what he had to do now… Just because those men were gone didn't mean the fight was over, because it wasn't JUST the Purple Dragons who were laughing in the face of Justice, and hurting innocents… It was all criminals, and if the cops wouldn't do all that was necessary, HE would.

He'd been watching the news, mostly looking to see how much heat was on him, but Matheson had apparently taken care of the links he had to the case, so it was just sort of background noise by now… He'd retained it all though, the recent wave of theft in the city, Purple Dragons couldn't have been responsible for it, they sold goods from OTHER countries here, using those profits to fund their drug ring…

The more Casey thought about it, the more it made sense… Tanaka's ring had been the big game in town, and these "newcomers" had everyone piss-scared since the robbery wave had begun. That meant they were probably from Tanaka's old stomping grounds in Japan.

The next day, Casey's suspicions were confirmed, as he called Matheson from another set of payphones, across town from the last ones. "Foot Clan?" He asked into the phone. "Sounds like a pedicure group…"

"Far from it." Matheson said on the other end of the line. "Sterns is trying to keep a lid on it right now, and aside from a nosey reporter, he's doin' a pretty good job of that, but bottom line: These guys are serious business."

"Thank you mister detective, I couldn't figure that out based on the DECAPITATION party they had with the Purple Dragons in the warehouse." Casey said, a bit annoyed.

"Just the tip of the iceberg, pal… I've been digging around in this case for awhile now, since before this thing with you and the Dragons started, and these new guys make them look like a church group. The shit I've heard out of little Tokyo is damn creepy."

"Anything useful?" Casey asked.

"Why do you care?" Matheson asked. "Thought this was a vendetta against the Dragons, shouldn't you be out of this crap now that they're all dead?"

Casey shook his head. "Nothin's over till I say its over." He said.

"Oh yeah?" Matheson asked. "When's it gonna be enough, Jones?"

"You'll find that out when my body turns up, chief." Casey said, then hung up the phone, heading down to the subway immediately to catch the train about to leave a moment later.

Casey sat atop the roof of the spot he'd chosen, trying to get a good channel on his Police Scanner. He'd decided that Matheson was a good asset, but it was getting too dangerous to keep him involved… He decided the moment he hung up the phone that he'd be going solo from here on in.

As he sat, he thought hard about his career as a crime fighter in general, watching the sunset as he did. The scanner next to him squawked with random chatter, but nothing about the pick-pockets the Foot Clan had been employing. He wondered if he should just hang up the mask altogether… Wondered if this was just a dead-end street, and maybe if he turned back to the real world, he could salvage some kind of life from his shattered career…

That's when he saw the turtle man.

It was out of the corner of his eye, a few blocks over, but the very distinct green skin and large turtle shell had caught his attention. He turned and raised his binoculars, confirming that it was, indeed the turtle man from Central Park, except this time he didn't have his "disguise" on.

He was average height (for a human anyway, Casey couldn't even fathom what "average" height for a turtle man would be) and had a large brown shell on his back that connected to a lighter tan colored one across his chest. He still had that red bandana mask over his eyes, and had a belt around his… waist(?) with two Sai stuck into holsters there.

"Huh…" Casey said to himself, shaking his head. "Looks like I got a sign after-all…"

The turtle man looked upset about something, as he was talking angrily to himself, punching at the air and doing random kicks at invisible enemies he clearly wished he could pummel. Casey decided maybe a visit was in order, and just as he was gathering his things though, he spotted them.

Ninjas.

The sight honestly threw him off, as it was definitely the LAST thing he expected to see in the middle of New York City. He saw them climbing out of various hiding spots like insects descending on some kind of prey, they approached the turtle man from all sides, and Casey decided that an URGENT visit was in order… because all the ninjas, upon closer inspection through his binoculars, sported the Foot Clan logo on red bandanas on their brows.

Casey hadn't bothered grabbing his golf bag, he knew he'd need to move quick for this gig, so he just grabbed his mask, and his goalie hockey stick. He pounded through the alley next to the building he'd seen the Turtle Man on top of a few minutes ago and sprang up onto a dumpster, tossing the hockey stick up to the fire-escape and then leaping to do a pull-up to the ladder.

Casey pulled himself up the ladder, grabbing the hockey stick and pounding up the stairs until he finally reached the roof. Just as he got to the top though, he skidded to a halt, as two of the Foot Ninjas who had been watching the fight between their comrades and the Turtle Man spun to face him. "Oh, hey guys. This isn't where I parked my car…" Casey chuckled, then swung the hockey stick horizontally, smashing both of them in the head. As the two hit the rooftop, several others turned quickly, spotting Casey.

"Alright kids, lets do this!" He said, then launched himself right into the thick of the mob. "GOONGALA!" He cried out, and began fighting through them. He swung the hockey stick like a mad-man, clubbing ninja after ninja, taking hits himself, but fighting through the pain and honestly not noticing it after awhile. He knew he had no combat training, no style to speak of, and really no knowledge of how to do martial arts… but he was a damn good brawler.

As the Ninjas moved in around him, Casey lunged forward, tackling one into several others around him and making a pile of them to stand up on, which he did. He then spun around and swung the hockey stick again, striking several of the Foot Ninjas as they advanced. These guys were strong, fast, and plentiful…

As the Ninja pressed in around him, the red turtle man leapt to his side, facing the Foot as well. "Once these guys are down, I'm kickin' YOUR butt next."

"I believe the words you might be looking for is 'thanks for the assist'?" Casey suggested.

"Had it under control." the Turtle insisted.

"If you say so, dome-head." Casey said, then lunged at the Foot Ninja.

As Casey and Raph battled their way through the Ninja, Casey realized that there were barely any of them focusing on him, they all were going after Raph. Obviously they REALLY wanted this Turtle for some reason, and Casey aimed to find out why… Also he didn't mind bashing in a few of their skulls while he was at it.

Casey glanced over his shoulder just in time to see the Turtle Man, downed by the mob of Ninjas, go flying downwards through a skylight into the apartment below. "Damn…" Casey said, then leapt again, kicking violently off the heads of several Foot Ninja and landing on the roof behind the group. They angrily turned and came at him again, but Casey was too quick, he jumped for the fire escape, letting the hockey stick fall and land in the dumpster below, he grabbed hold of the sides of the ladder and slid down by his hands and boots, the leather fingerless gloves absorbing the punishment his hands would not have survived.

Casey reached the bottom of the ladder, hearing the Foot Ninja above him already following. Not all of them though fortunately, he figured most of them were going after the Turtle Man… and from the sounds of the fight upstairs, he guessed there were others they wanted in that apartment.

Casey reclaimed his hockey stick and backed up as the Foot Ninja landed around him. Five of them total… It wouldn't be enough.

Casey grinned under the mask and the five ninja lunged. Casey ducked low, driving his shoulder into the first one, which doubled him over Casey's back, then he lifted, hurling him face first to the ground behind him and Casey didn't miss a beat, he drove the hockey stick into the next Foot's sternum, then swung it up, connecting with the man's jaw and knocking him backwards. A solid punch hit Casey in the face, but the mask absorbed most of it (luckily, as the Foot packed very powerful punches), Casey stumbled back and blocked a kick from the Foot Ninja with his hockey stick, earning a cry of pain from beneath the ninja's mask. He didn't give him a chance to recover either, he clubbed the Foot Ninja in the same spot he'd hurt with the kick, then spun around and whipped the hockey stick over his head, smacking down the 4th one, and the one he'd been fighting. The fifth Foot Ninja was waiting though, and delivered three perfectly executed chops, to Casey's arm, which made it go numb, then to his chest, then his face.

Casey was thrown off his feet, landing hard on his back. The Foot Ninja leapt into the air, shouting "HIYYYYAAAAAA!" as he did, and raised his foot to crush Casey's head. He didn't get that far though, as Casey instead raised both feet up and drove them as hard as he could up into the man's descending crotch. "Ninja or not… a shot in the pills is a shot in the pills."

The Foot Ninja let out a choked off 'eep' as his testicles were smashed into his pelvis, and Casey got to his feet, smacking him in the face and giving him merciful unconsciousness.

Just as the final Foot Ninja went down though, a massive 'KER-AKUNCH!' from inside the building the Turtle Man had been thrown into shook the entire place, and a massive cloud of dust was thrown through the windows. Casey tilted his head to the side thoughtfully. Who the hell was in there?

Casey flipped his hockey stick around, adjusted his mask, and ran for the stairs. As he reached it, he heard the fight continuing in the first floor area, and someone shouted "Ya know, we could REALLY use Raph right about now!" in a choked-off voice.

Casey shrugged. "Good a time as any for my entrance." He said, then kicked the door open, casting bright sunlight into the otherwise dimly lit area. He strolled in, patting the hockey stick head in his hand a few times thoughtfully.

"Now what?" Someone asked, annoyed.

The room was FILLED with old antiques and random junk, obviously it was a thrift store of some kind. Casey saw a LOT of Foot Ninjas, but then he saw something that almost made his jaw drop… MORE Turtle Men. There were three new ones, all wearing different colored bandanas and holding different ninja weapons. He recovered from the initial shock quickly though, spotting the red bandana one on the floor near the stairs.

"You guys mind tellin' me what you're doing to my little green pal over there? Hmm?" Casey asked, motioning to the unconscious form of "raph" as the others had been calling him. That's when he noticed the woman. "Woah… Who's the babe?" He asked, feigning a surprised jump. Whoever she was, she was very attractive, and somehow familiar…

"Who the heck is that?" The blue masked turtle asked.

"Wayne Gretzky?" The orange one suggested. "On steroids?"

"ATTACK!" A loud, commanding voice shouted from the side, Casey spotted a bald man with a mustache, dressed up like some kind of fruity Asian dignitary. As he clenched his fist in the direction of the Turtles and Casey though, the Foot Ninja didn't stay still any longer, they all rushed forward again.

Casey blocked an overhead strike from one Foot Ninja brandishing a Tonka stick, then struck him in the sternum to knock him back, swinging the hockey stick to the side and colliding it with another charging Foot. He then deflected another strike from a Foot and back-handed the attacker for his trouble, with the hockey stick.

Casey bashed his way through Foot Ninja after Foot Ninja, and then, he didn't know how, but suddenly the store was ablaze! He looked around, spotting an axe wedged into the power box cables and a dead Foot Ninja laying near it. "Crap…" He mumbled under his mask, then attacked another Foot Ninja.

"There used to be a trap-door to the basement!" The woman's voice shouted. Casey saw where her and the Turtles were and made his way over to cover them.

"Come on, you sock-headed pansies, COME ON!" Casey shouted, cackling a bit as he swung wildly at the Foot Ninja to keep them back.

"We're getting outta here!" The blue masked Turtle shouted to the others as the woman disappeared into a secret passage in the wall, pulling Raph with her.

The purple masked one, fighting off the Foot with a bow staff, socked a Foot in the face, then spun away, lunging for the door as well, followed swiftly by the Orange masked one. "Gang way, I'll take care of these guys!" He shouted to them, smashing another one in the face with his hockey stick.

As Casey swung like a mad-man, keeping the main group at bay and clocking any who dared get close enough, the blue masked one stopped at the door, turning to Casey. "You comin'?" He asked.

Casey turned to him quickly, motioning to the door with his head. "I'll cover ya!" He insisted.

"Good idea…" The Blue Masked one said, then disappeared into the escape door.

Casey continued brawling for awhile, even as the room got boiling hot from the rapidly spreading flames, he just wanted to pound as many of them as he possibly could… and give the Turtles a chance to escape.

Suddenly, a phone rang. It went to the answering machine after a few rings, an answering machine which was hanging from the gaping hole in the ceiling that the fighters had obviously fallen through. "Hi this is April, leave a message." The woman's voice said.

"Huh?" Casey said, looking up at it. That's where he knew her from! April O'Niel from the news… Hold that thought though… Casey had to jump back into the action or be pulverized. The machine beeped.

"April, its Charles… Look, I'm sorry, I don't know how else to say this…" He started, it was almost comical to Casey, who was fighting for his life while this dork babbled on. "Your fired, April. I'm sorry, I know this comes as a blow-" He said, but was cut off as the flames burned through the chord and dropped it, where it landed right on the head of one Foot Ninja.

"You can say that again, Chuck." Casey chuckled, then the blue masked one returned.

"COME ON!" He insisted, waving a hand.

"Bye guys, gotta run!" Casey shouted, then ducked into the escape door, which he slammed shut behind him and locked, just as the Foot began pounding on it from the other side. As the group piled into an ancient-looking van, Casey heard sirens approaching from outside, and the purple turtle in the driver's seat floored it. The van smashed through the garage door and sped off down the street, passing the fire trucks as they raced for the inferno. April looked back at the fire with sorrow on her face, and Casey decided now wasn't the best time to hit on her… but that would only stop him for so long.

Casey chuckled to himself quietly, looking around the van at the Turtles, they all looked pretty upset, so he just sighed, sat back, took off his mask and smirked slightly. "This could be the start of a beautiful friendship." He mumbled quietly.

The Van sped down the now dark streets of New York, headed out of town as fast as the clunker could go. Casey didn't know what awaited him, but he knew it was bound to be fun…

The Beginning!


End file.
